


Alone

by theaveragebear



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, rhett can't control his thoughts, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14297256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaveragebear/pseuds/theaveragebear
Summary: The touches he imagines when he’s alone like this are different than all the touches they’ve shared over the years. There’s little doubt in his mind that the way he wants to get his hands on Link’s body would shock them both were it to become reality.





	Alone

When he’s alone—in those rare moments when he’s somehow left to his own devices—images flood his thoughts, wash over him, consume him.

They’re the type of images he’d normally push away. It’s easier to lie to himself than face what his reaction to them means. But tonight he’s tired of fighting it, wants to give in and feel some relief. He slides the dimmer on the wall low, casting the room in a sickly soft glow. A light shines in his memory, flashing frames like a movie. He lets them flicker through his mind’s eye and they rattle something loose in him, set something free.

In one flash Rhett sees the smooth, taut skin of Link’s shoulders. He imagines what that skin would feel like under his tense fingers. They’ve touched enough for him to have lingering sense memory of its soft warmth, its elastic pliability. But the touches he imagines when he’s alone like this are different than all the touches they’ve shared over the years. There’s little doubt in his mind that the way he wants to get his hands on Link’s body would shock them both were it to become reality.

Lying in his bed, even the cool white sheets are too hot, too heavy. Every brush of fabric against his skin sets him on fire. His eyes drift closed and he lets the scene that’s been running through his head play out. Link’s flat on his stomach and Rhett is straddled across his backside, hands free to explore. His imaginary fingers run across the expanse of Link’s back, slow and gentle enough that Link silently shivers beneath it. It’s easy to picture the flex and release of the muscles of Link’s shoulder blades and arms, the tanned skin malleable under Rhett’s rough hands. More light touches raise Link’s flesh, cause his hair to stand on end, his eyes to flutter closed.

Not content with light touches, Rhett watches himself grip Link’s waist, kneading away the tension he finds lingering in his muscles. It’s overwhelming; how satisfying Rhett knows it would be to dig his thumbs into the flesh along Link’s spine—he can practically feel him relax into it, hear him moan through it. Link is noisy; Rhett just knows he is. He knows he’d make all kinds of pretty sounds—high and needy—bouncing out of him with eager recklessness. Rhett desperately wants to be the cause of those sounds, wants to push him to the edge with no hope of return. Their shared years of denial and caution are a cage Rhett longs to be free of. He gives in with abandon, letting himself make the noises he imagines Link would make. They spill out of him and echo off the walls, reverberating deep in his chest, straight through his heart.

As he succumbs to his increasingly debaucherous thoughts, Rhett detaches himself from his own hands, allowing himself to believe they’re Link’s; cool, yet smooth and sure as they roam his body. The image flashes and shifts: now Link is hovering over him, dark hair matted with sweat, long strands falling across his forehead. Rhett arches into his own hand—Link’s hand—as it slides across his chest, tangling in the soft hair on his abdomen. His other hand drifts to his head, pulling at his loosened curls the way he wishes Link would. Rhett’s mouth falls open and he swears he can feel Link’s hot breath on him.

Senses alight, he tastes the salt of Link’s collarbones under his tongue as Link lowers himself closer, biceps shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Rhett sees himself tracing circles through the dark hair on Link’s chest, leaning in and flicking at his perfectly sensitive nipples with his tongue. He’s certain of the sound that would elicit; Link’s sparkling giggle has played on a loop through his head for years. Here in this fantasy space the sound is intoxicating; it buries deep and unravels Rhett from within.

In his mind he watches Link writhe above him, skinny waist twisting, ribs hollowed with each sharp intake of breath. Rhett imagines his own delicate fingers walking up and down the curve of Link’s back, slipping into his jeans, pushing and squeezing at the soft muscle of his ass. Rhett sighs when dream-Link slides up for a kiss. It’s warm and sweet, Link’s clever tongue tracing his bottom lip before pushing in for more. It’s hardly the first time Rhett’s thought about knotting his fingers into Link’s now silvery soft hair, gripping to pull him closer as their mouths meet in sloppy frenzy. But tonight he’s feeling things more intensely, his tired body tuned to his own needs, and he’s practically coming before he’s even touched himself.

It’s silly, really, that just the thought of kissing, of touching, can cause him to come unglued like this. He’s a grown man and silently he admonishes himself for his lack of self-control. Nonetheless, he finds himself powerless to slow the onslaught of his own reactions. He hears how ragged his breath is in his lungs; he can picture the flush across his own chest, up his neck. He wonders if Link ever thinks about him like this, if he knows how easily worked up Rhett can get at just the thought of him. He pictures Link in a similar situation, Rhett’s name on his breath, bucking up into his own hand as he works himself over.

It’s more than Rhett can take, but it’s only when he feels like he might explode from sensory overload that he allows his hand to sink below the waistband of his jeans. He fumbles through the normally mundane act of pulling down his zipper, which has become a challenge in his blown out state.

“Fuck.” The curse slips out from under his breath when his knuckles make even the barest contact with the hard flesh still hidden under his cotton briefs. It’s such sweet relief when he’s finally freed of his clothes and gets a hand on himself, gripping roughly and without hesitation. His palm is pleasantly warm and sweaty, perfect for what he needs right now.

Sighing into it, he lets the fantasy proceed, gasping at the thought of Link grinding down into him, their slick bodies making contact for the first time, eliciting low grumbly words of affirmation from Link. He’s got a dirty mouth; Rhett’s sure of it. He hears Link whispering wet words of encouragement into his ear as Rhett works his big hand over himself. Strings of imagined curse words tangle with breathy moans that sound so bright and authentic Rhett’s sure they must be real. His eyes fly open and fling around the room, ensuring there’s not actually someone there with him. Relieved to find that he’s truly alone, he moans into the emptiness of the space around him as the movements of his hand turn from slow and soft to slick and needy in short time.

Rhett lets the image change again, sees Link strewn across his lap; peering up at him with dark eyes and a cunning smirk. One lazy hand reaches up to explore Rhett’s chest, the other replacing Rhett’s; stroking, squeezing, twisting at the tip just the way he knows Rhett likes. This version of Link knows all the ways to push Rhett’s buttons; he’s wild and arrogant, overconfident in his ability to devastate Rhett. Resting one cheek on Rhett’s thigh, he flashes another beguiling smile, one corner of his mouth creeping up, betraying his intentions. Rhett’s hand picks up speed as he imagines the pretty picture of Link’s lips finding their way to Rhett’s cock.

Every now and then Rhett is dragged back into reality, his phone buzzing from the nightstand or a car alarm going off in the distance. In those frantic moments he becomes aware of the filthy sounds he’s making, both with his body and his voice. They’re guttural and wet, slick with desire and louder than Rhett realized. But before he can muster up any embarrassment, he’s lured back under by Link’s sultry specter: fantasy-Link licks up the length of him, slow and torturous, breath hot one moment and cool the next. Rhett whines and undulates at the thought of it, back arching off the bed, his free hand searching for something substantial to grip onto, eventually just tangling in the sheet below him.

Rhett sees—fuck, he _feels—_ Link slink down onto him, coaxing himself lower and lower, giggling around Rhett as he searches for his limits. It’s not hard to picture Link pulling off again, saliva trailing in wispy, silvery bands from his mouth. Rhett knows this is when Link would make some ridiculous joke, waggle his brows, get Rhett laughing. And as soon as he’d feel at ease Link would dive back in, taking him all the way down from tip to hilt, every precarious inch punctuated with a smooth swirl of his wicked tongue, leaving Rhett groaning as he hits the back of his throat. Rhett does his best to get his hand to mimic the sensation of Link’s sticky mouth around him, squeezing more than necessary from the bottle normally hidden in the depths of his nightstand. There’s so much of it that he feels the excess dripping down the length of him, pooling on the fabric under him.

And the image changes again. Link is serpentine in his movements as he turns around and straddles Rhett backwards, sitting on his upper thighs. The picture of him like this—agile, ready, eager to do what comes next—has Rhett pumping into his fist with brutal urgency. Rhett imagines sitting up to meet him, wrapping an arm around his waist from behind, licking a cool trail up the length of his vertebrae. Rhett’s memorized the look Link would give as he twists to look at him from over his shoulder. Meeting his eyes, dream-Rhett guides their mouths together again, but this kiss is frantic, more breath than tongues as Rhett helps Link guide himself down onto his cock. Rhett’s chest presses into Link’s back while he buries his forehead in Link’s softly scented hair. He’s nothing but static nerve endings, exposed and vulnerable, as he pictures how they’d fit together, how they’d move together. Slow at first, nearly painful, as Link opens up around him, but picking up speed and sound as they crash towards their inevitable conclusion. 

Rhett blinks and Link’s spun around again, the ghostly vision of him able to move faster than Rhett’s addled brain can keep up. They work together at a pace that isn’t sustainable, becoming more and more convulsive and uncertain as it goes on. Link grinds his hips down and Rhett’s certain there will be bruises tomorrow—until he reminds himself that this isn’t real, of course, it’s just him and the empty room and his own ragged, drawn out breath. There’s no time to dwell on what’s real and what’s fantasy. Not now. Not when he’s so sure he can see how Link throws his head back and bites his lip to keep himself from screaming.

He feels his arms wrap tight around Link’s back, nearly fully encircling him, drawing him closer. He’d use all of his strength to keep Link’s hips steady in place as he bucks up into him, writhing and whining through it. Here at the edge, he sees them as one single entity, their two forms colliding in pursuit of a common goal. Link’s sweat is his sweat; Link’s voice, his breath, his skin are all Rhett’s own. 

_Come for me, Rhett._

Dream-Link asks, so Rhett delivers. With a strangled, silent cry and the fading memory of Link’s skin under his fingers, it’s over—slippery heat runs down his hand and a familiar, prickly warmth spreads through his veins.

The world around him slowly comes back into focus. Unable to move, spread out wide on on his bed, sweat cooling on his skin, he hears his breath start to slow and regain its rhythm. At the edges of his thoughts, though, there’s the usual rising panic. He curses himself for giving in, for letting his imagination run so wild. Forcing himself to stand,  he cleans off and strips the sheets from the bed. He needs to erase every shred of evidence that this happened again.

As he tosses his bedding in the laundry machine, he pauses and watches it spin. He feels the tightness in his chest finally start to recede. As much as he needed this, he feels weak, unable to stop his own yearning heart from giving into its urges. His only hope is that this is enough. Enough to sustain him for a while, keep his thoughts where he thinks they belong. At the very least, he hopes it’s enough until the next time he’s alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @the-average-bear, if you're into that sort of thing. 
> 
> Thank you @missingparentheses for your help beta-ing :)


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